SANCT Andra’s Day’s cam roun agane,

Let’s hae a luik an see whit’s daein,

The gemms that MSPs are playin,

   Frae ilka pairty,

Is Scotland in a warld o pain?

   Or hale an hairty?


Oor patron saint ah’m shair wid say,

Gin he wir leevin yet the day,

That Scots are kind, an want fair play,

   Fir yin an aa,

An gin he’d Scotia’s future spae,

   He’d think it braw!


Fowk dinnae mind a wee bit tax,

Tae save health service frae the axe,

Ae penny in the pound aa’s asked,

   Tae aid the nation;

Help teachers tae tak up the slack,

   In education.


A meenit frae administration,

BiFab faced extermination,

But Nicola wis their salvation,

   It’s fair tae say,

They’ll nou hae Christmas celebrations,

   She saved the day!


Tho Richard Leonard’s take that day,

Suggestit he’d a pairt tae play!

‘Invisible hand’? It’s fair tae say,

   A photo-opp,

Ne’er duin much the deal tae sway,

   Anither flop!


In Ayrshire mind he taen a beatin,

Labour gaen fir guid, unseaten,

Trickie Dickie gey near greetin,

   At the count,

The ‘Red Flag’ at hauf-mast defeaten;

   Down an out!


But he’ll breathe new life intil Labour!

They need a messianic saviour,

Gin Lazarus hud bin his neighbour, 

   He’d ne’er hae risen,

Tho deaved wi Dickie’s warthless haivers,



His ex-boss Kez, ‘Queen o the Bungle!’

Buiked her ticket tae the jungle,

Tae feast oan snakes an nesty fungal,

   Mingin stuff,

The pledge o giein her fee syne rumbled;

  ‘slebdom’s rough!


Mind, whit wis Kezia Dugdale daein?

Up a tree wi Cheetah an Jane!

Guid joab Tarzan wisnae hame –

   He’d no bin happy!

Bananas fir his tea agane!?

   Gie’s roast Okapi!!


‘She’s draggin politics in the sheuch!’

Said wuid Neil Findlay, talkin teuch!

The Labour voters huv hud eneuch!

   Time tae suspend her!

Ah dout the ‘comrades’ taen the huff –

   Fir nane’d defend her!


Mibbes #TeamKez is muivin oan,

Nou here’s John Curtice oan the phone

‘A valuable resource!’ ?? Ochone!

   Ye must be kiddin!

‘They’ll aa be queuin tae tak her oan!’

   Sae, up the biddin!


Meanwhile, in Holyrood’s main chamber,

Sleekit antics are nae stranger,

Question Time cuid be in danger,

   Frae wha? Eureka!

Thon fly dug that’s in the manger,

   Aye, the speaker!


Ken McIntosh, gey easie-osie,

When takkin questions frae the Tories,

Allous thaim tae spin oot their stories,

   In lang pre-ambles,

A wunner thair’s bin nae furore,

   Owre puir Ken’s shambles!


Whiles guid Scots sense!? They haena any,

‘Debater o the Year’, Wull Rennie!?

Dearie me! Nae warth a penny!

  It’s apt tae mention,

He ne’er allous a single query;

   ‘Nae interventions!’


Unless it’s wae a camera lens,

Some paparazzi Twitter trends;

Here’s oor Wullie’s porcine friends,

   Makkin bacon!

Else, randy Rams, at their hin’ends,

   Whit’s he daein!?


Wi twelve hunner joabs that aa micht go,

In his kail-yaird, Wull wisnae slow….

Tae criticise Salmond’s TV show!!??

   Fir Chrissakes Wullie!

‘Real Politik’ shuid hae struck a blow!

   But, ‘Where was Wally’!!?


If it’s no Wull it’s Goofy Ruth,

Posing fir daft snaps, God’strewth,

Oan Tanks, or Bulls astride; uncouth!

   Wants nae ambition,

Get rid o May, send her doun south,

   Then syne, perdition!


Tory bigots wi racist views,

That aye-an-oan wid mak ye spew,

Fowk o honour? They hae damn’t few,

   Their vows ring hollower,

Wha’d stab their grannie tae get a few,

   Mair Twitter followers!

Whiles keekin oot ower Hadrian’s Wa,

Thae backbench Tories taen a staw,

Theresa’s neck they’d like tae thraw,

   They daurnae sack her,

A ‘deid wumman walks’ tae her dounfa’,

   Fir nou, they’ll back her!


Fause promises frae Tory maisters,

Oan Tory battle-buses slaistert,

‘Hunners ae millions!’ – said these wasters,

   Fir the NHS,

In truth, we’ll get a stickin plaister,

   Its wounds tae dress!


As lang’s Westmonster pu’s wir strings,

An aa oor schemes an dreams she dings,

We’ll ne’er be free tae dae the things,

   Wid sair us best,

Whiles Hammond’s budget nae cheer brings,

   An fails the test.


Thair nae much cheer frae Spreadsheet Phil,

Wha husnae ocht left in the till,

Syne peyin aff austerity’s bill. . .

   Whit’s that? Aye, richt!

As UK growth shrinks doun tae nil,

   The future’s bricht!


The leaky boat o Brexit plugged,

Syne Phil the puir taxpayer mugged,

£3 billion extra nabbed, then shrugged,

  Sma beer, he’ll Tweet,

Compared wi whit the Bullingdon slugged,

  In Chateau Lafite!


A year syne since his ‘midnicht flittin’,

His ‘legacy’ wid rip yer knittin,

David Cameron’s ‘Brucken Britain’,

   Aye-an-oan haunts us,

We’d like tae see a wheen mair quittin,

   But still they taunt us.


Tak thon Rees-Mogg, a scary guy,

Ah’m shair that he must be AI?

He hus a luik that’s pure sci-fi,

   Wid mak ye puke!

Abortion views that stupefy;

   ‘Does not compute…!’


Gove hus mair lives than the cat!

A weasely wee back-stabbin rat,

They must be gey haurd-up when that,

   Is aince mair in the fold,

But come the neist big Tory spat,

  He’ll nae dout pruive ‘fuil’s gold’!


Big BoJo tae, o the silver tung,

He near goat thon puir lassie hung,

But by his fingertips he’s clung,

   Hou lang can he survive?

Aye, Big Ben’s bells wull suin be rung –

   Fir his P45!!


But luik, here cams a royal waddin!

Tae cheer the nation an hae us clappin,

Its cost nae dout wid buy new claddin,

   Fir Grenfell raither,

Tho Captain Harry luiks pure dashin;

   Ah ken’t his faither!


Cam Commoners aa, nou thon’s the spirit!

That won Trafalgar, that’s the ticket!

E’en thaim oan Universal Credit,

   Wi weans that’s stairvin,

They’ll gie tae see that Meghan’s buskit!

   Much mair desairvin!


Sanct Andra, gin ye hear oor prayers,

Lowse Scotland syne frae these nichtmares,

Fortune favours thaim wha daurs,

   That’s aye bin true,

An by your haly banes we’ll swear…

  Gie’s Indy 2!!!